


a heart to be a part of

by betoning



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe RPF
Genre: Love Confessions, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-09
Updated: 2018-09-09
Packaged: 2019-07-10 05:06:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15942395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/betoning/pseuds/betoning
Summary: They are supposed to pass each other by. Miss each other, not by a hairsbreadth but by miles, due to schedules that don’t line up at all. Sebastian left LA last night, and Chris has only just come back. Their planes weren’t even on each other’s radars.





	a heart to be a part of

**Author's Note:**

> A heads up: if you have read a Chris/Sebastian fic of mine before, then you have already read this one because it is a copy of all of my previous works. I write the same story over and over again, mostly because I'm not creative in the slightest, but also because writing about characters finding happiness together makes my own life seem a bit more distant. I'm not about to apologize for that.
> 
> Please remember that this is a work of fiction, I don't mean any harm!!!

They are supposed to miss each other. Both senses of the word, Chris supposes, because he does miss Sebastian the majority of every year – too many days spent aching and pretending not to – but this time it’s physical, too. They are supposed to pass each other by. Miss each other, not by a hairsbreadth but by miles, due to schedules that don’t line up at all. Sebastian left LA last night, and Chris has only just come back. Their planes weren’t even on each other’s radars.

The ache’s worse than usual this time, fuelled by the knowledge that Sebastian spent a night in Chris’s house while Chris wasn’t there. Powered by flashing, mental images of Sebastian creating magic in the kitchen; of Sebastian dragging tired feet over the hardwood floor; of Sebastian soft and comfortable and slumbering on the couch. Chris hates that he wasn’t there to see any of it. He hates it even more that he has no idea of when he’ll be able to see Sebastian _anywhere_ , because they don’t even have a press event as a guarantee on a faraway horizon for the first time in eight years.

He’s never done well with uncertainty. It’s better these days – growing older and talking things through in therapy has given him the tools to deal with it better – but it’s still hard at times. There are still nights driven by irrationality when he lies awake until dawn, thinking about writing a script about _anything_ just to have a movie to direct – something to potentially charm Sebastian with that will ensure that they’ll work together for another few months, see each other on a daily basis.

 _Nights driven by irrationality_ , yes. And when dawn comes around and brightens the California sky with colours after such nights he tends to crash into the unrelenting wall of reality and feel embarrassed every time; he could never write a story, not a good one, not one that Sebastian would ever want to add his brilliance to.

Sebastian is the writer out of the two of them, anyway, and even with nothing but scribbled, sarcastic notes upon late script changes on set to go on Chris knows that he’s brilliant at it. Sebastian is a man who tells stories with his entire being, hinting at layers with each word, each twitch of an eyebrow.

In the face of every ice-cold, realistic punch of a new dawn Chris never blames himself for wanting to go to the end of the world in order to be tied to Sebastian for a bit longer, though. Anyone would if it meant seeing more of those layers, more of that face.

Chris is in love. This makes him a bit irrational, too, and the combined forces of nightly desperation and never-ending, lovesick longing drives him to the point of landing in LA twelve hours early even though he _knew_ when changing his ticket last night that he was already too late. That Sebastian would already be gone anyway, and that not even Sebastian’s body heat would linger upon the furniture in Chris’s home.

Irrational, bordering on pathetic, _he’s_ _aware_.

He used to think that it would get easier to be in love with Sebastian once they weren’t constantly around each other. Used to believe that remembering the taste of Sebastian’s mouth and the feel of Sebastian’s skin against his own would be a less painful thing to do when the man in question wouldn’t constantly be in Chris’s line of sight anymore to tease him.

The actual reality of it has rendered those thoughts utterly idiotic, though, because the months that have passed since they last did a convention together have gone by in slow motion, and Chris would do just about anything for another seven months in gruelling Atlanta heat side by side with Sebastian in tight costumes by now, pining be damned.

He’d settle for another few weeks spent sprawling on the same hotel bed while eating the same, worn out chicken and veggies with scripts discarded on the side table, too. Or, desperately, for just another night in one of those hotel beds, plates pushed away along with their clothes, losing his breath under Sebastian’s touches and finding it again in the way Sebastian would respond so beautifully to him.

He wants to spend one last morning watching Sebastian wake up in the curve of his own body; see Sebastian dress in Chris’s clothes and pretend in the elevator down that they belong together. Pretend for a minute that Sebastian could want those things, too.

That minute alone is too big of a wish; he’s not yet learned how to keep his heart from wanting. Doesn’t think he’d be the same person if he did, and he does like who he is most of the time. Likes that he can still be a reckless dreamer beneath all the anxiety, that he doesn’t let his thoughts spiral so far out of control these days that they end up changing him into something else – into someone who doesn’t fly across the country with a persistent bit of hope stuck in his throat.

The plant near the front door that was half-dead when Chris left a week ago looks a bit perkier when he glances at it, but otherwise everything’s the same. His house, safe and comforting and as complete as he thinks he’s ever going to get it, only missing a piece that he cannot fabricate or place in there on his own no matter how much he wants it.

His brother’s still taking care of Dodger, so inside is exactly as quiet and normal as he expects it to be, too, apart from how it very much isn’t.

Sebastian’s shoes – undoubtedly his, Chris _knows_ those shoes – have carefully been nudged out of the entryway and left by the wall, because Sebastian is polite like that. His leather jacket’s there, too, and a scent that is so distinctly _him_ clings to the fabric as well as the walls, hovering in the air as though the entire room has soaked it up greedily. It’s nostalgia when it climbs into Chris’s lungs – conjures up flashes of eight years spent in each other’s vicinity where he could commit that scent to memory – and it hammers itself in place there, sticking to the walls inside of Chris’s chest as well.

He sets his bag down on the floor and toes his shoes off to give Sebastian’s some company. The house _is_ as quiet as he expected it to be, but the hope that was lodged in his throat while he travelled back home has slipped down to fill up his lungs with even more want, and the urge to rush forward and skid around the corners the way Dodger usually does when he’s excited is only tamped down by the fear of being disappointed – of maybe finding out that Sebastian just happened to forget his outerwear on a stressful journey to the airport last night.

The kitchen’s spotless and smells of brownies, and the living room’s like he left it apart from the blanket that has been folded over the back of a couch where it was previously a lump of fabric squished between cushions. The entire downstairs area is bright, lit up by morning sunshine and the knowledge that Sebastian’s been here, enjoying it all, and Chris is aware that he’s projecting, but he still likes it. Likes the idea of having a home that wants Sebastian in it, too.

He catches Sebastian upstairs, walking out of Chris’s bedroom with nothing but a towel tied around his waist and the undoubtable heat and dampness from a shower upon his skin. He seems to be caught up in his own thoughts, brow furrowed and gaze distant until it suddenly snaps up and to the side, aimed right at Chris near the top of the stairs.

Chris must have done something to steal his attention. Exhaled Sebastian’s name, perhaps, because it’s all his mind consists of at the moment. Nothing but scent and want and _Sebastian_ , and he can’t blame his body for acting out, for voicing that yearning and, it seems, disrupting the quiet.

Sebastian is stood half naked in the doorway of Chris’s bedroom, and it really shouldn’t feel like this – so big and consuming and life-changing – because it’s happened before. But it’s the first thing that Chris sees upon coming home, and he can’t believe that he ever thought that he knew the meaning of that word before this moment. _Home_. This is what one truly feels like.

“Chris.” Sebastian’s voice is soft, though cracking from what Chris assumes is sleep and disuse. He looks startled; blinking as though he’s just as disbelieving as Chris is where they gaze at each other over the carpet.

Chris blinks once, too, amazed to find that Sebastian’s still there once his eyelashes have swept over his eyes. It seems unlikely. Chris can’t possibly be this lucky.

“You’re still here?” he finds himself asking. “You’re not supposed to—“

“You’re back early!” Sebastian cuts in, accusation in his tone. “You’re not _supposed to_ either.”

Chris manages to push back the absolute wave of fondness that builds up inside of him at that by raising his eyebrows and dragging his gaze slowly down and up Sebastian’s naked front. Says, “ _Not_ apologizing.”

Sebastian cocks his head a little to the side and squints his eyes in response to the comment. Looks as fond as Chris feels and is so utterly stunning, standing there like the sun in Chris’s house.

Chris moves closer, slow but determined with his gaze stuck on Sebastian’s face. Sebastian remains still in that doorway, framed by it like a painting and just as beautiful as one.

“Things got shifted around, so I’m leaving tonight instead,” Sebastian explains without further prompting. He’s shifting slightly as Chris comes near; moving his head so that it’s tilted upwards just a little, just to accommodate the slight, _slight_ height difference between them.

His voice is already less raspy, and while it’s as quiet as it usually is when they talk privately it seems loud in this setting, in Chris’s eardrums and in Chris’s heart. Sebastian offers bits of himself more readily nowadays, because somewhere during the stretch of the past eight years he seemingly decided that Chris was someone worth trusting. It’s one of Chris’s biggest achievements in life, and any time he is reminded of it by Sebastian’s voice it feels like his entire body is screaming with pride. Trembling. Too much joy to contain in one being.

“I just wanted to come home,” he offers in return. Thinks: _to you, because it’s always been you_. “You watered my plant.”

Sebastian snorts at that, taken by surprise. There’s not much space between them now – not more than a third of a step and a few breaths. He can see each of Sebastian’s eyelashes, the multiple shades of blue in those eyes, and the moisture upon those lips. Wonders _why_ he can see all of that – why he hasn’t closed his own eyes and kissed Sebastian already. Why things are different between them, if it’s a bad different, if Sebastian doesn’t like the unsuspected appearance of Chris like this, and if the time that has passed since the last time has changed things between them, if Sebastian doesn’t even want him fleetingly anymore.

But the surprise has already faded from Sebastian’s expression and now he _smiles_ , soft and fond and wonderful, murmuring, “Welcome home.”

Chris’s heart stutters, and all he can do for a moment is nod at the utter rightness of that, of how it sounds coming out of Sebastian’s mouth. He’s still nodding when he takes that tiny not-step forward, still moving his head in a silent communication of _yes, again, say that to me always_ that Sebastian can’t possibly be understanding but that he matches with his own little nod anyway, and then Chris is cupping Sebastian’s jaw in one palm and muffling a hi against Sebastian’s mouth.

It’s not what Sebastian meant, Chris knows that. Not a welcome home to me, to us, to the two of us together in this house forever. But for a moment Chris can pretend. For a moment he can take the way Sebastian’s kissing him back without hesitation, let his imagination run with it into bliss, and hope that reality won’t catch up.

Sebastian’s mouth is warm, and just as soft as Chris remembers. He curls his fingers delicately over skin and bone and tilts Sebastian’s head back for better access, licks along the inside of Sebastian’s bottom lip and revels in the taste, in the feeling of Sebastian beneath his fingertips, against his body, under his own mouth.

Sebastian hums into the kiss, quiet and soft and _everything_. One of his hands is slipping up to the back of Chris’s neck in a movement that Chris can’t possibly second-guess, because there is intent embedded in it; a weight to the palm where it presses against Chris’s skin and keeps him close, keeps them breathing the same, heated air.

Sebastian’s skin is still warm from his shower, though his body shivers when Chris moves his hands over it. He drags one palm down along Sebastian’s spine in order to press it to the lower back, to press Sebastian close enough that he can feel the knot of Sebastian’s towel dig into his own flesh. His other hand’s migrating towards Sebastian’s side, settling at the curve of a lovely waist and committing every movement beneath to memory; every hitch of breath and twitch of a muscle now layered upon his own skin forever, marking the way he carries on.

He can feel Sebastian’s breath across his upper lip and nose. The warmth of it along with the urgency in the fingertips that are curling at the nape of Chris’s neck boil down to this: Sebastian wanting him, still, even if it may just be for another moment. Another physical need to be fulfilled.

Chris can be greedy sometimes, when it comes to the things that he most wants. Has masochistic tendencies in the sense that he doesn’t always do what’s best for him in the long run – is so set on living in the moment that he misses out on the realization that worry sometimes is helpful. That fearing what’s coming might be necessary when his heart’s on the line and the blissful feeling of being wanted like this is going to dissipate as soon as Sebastian has left him.

When he finally pulls back, he does it so reluctantly that it hurts. Skin and bone and heart, all of him wanting _more_ as he leans back an inch and struggles a breath down his throat. He tries to steady himself on the spot, held in Sebastian’s heated line of sight.

Those _eyes_ , though, and the emotions that they carry so expertly. Chris often sees them when he closes his own at night. Often dreams of drowning, of sinking and settling softly on the bottom of something wonderful – a colourful world of beautiful complexity that never fails to amaze him.

He’s leaning forward now, and is completely unaware of it, drawn in by his thoughts about those eyes and the shimmer in the blue of them. Sebastian grins at him, playful and pleased and pretty. The sun and the ocean and everything in-between, collected in Chris’s house and now indulging Chris’s desperate need for more by giving in to another kiss; index finger curled under Chris’s chin during the brief second that it lasts before Sebastian tears himself away with a soft, amused breath and tilts his entire body into Chris’s chest.

Sebastian’s hand falls down to rest over Chris’s breastbone; the side of his head against Chris’s clavicle where he ducks in close. His nose brushes the base of Chris’s throat, his following exhale hot and heavy against Chris’s skin.

It sounds content. Makes Chris grin like a fool up at nothing in particular, because _he_ can make Sebastian do this – can make Sebastian kiss him and smile about it afterwards, can make Sebastian curl in close and settle as though making up for every mile that’s ever been between them.

He embraces Sebastian properly, arms thrilled to wrap the other man up and hold him near, and ponders the affection some more, the way Sebastian squeezed in as close as humanly possible. Points out, “You can’t actually _sink into_ me, you know.”

Sebastian, not raising to the bait or showing any sign of embarrassment, curls his hand in Chris’s sweater and grumbles. “Watch me.”

It sounds a lot like _I’ve missed you_. Chris closes his eyes against everything but the feeling of Sebastian against him and lets himself believe that Sebastian _could_ mean that just for a moment. Two. Revels in the way Sebastian remains still and seemingly content as time ticks by.

When Chris finally opens his eyes again he manages to acknowledge the house, the interior, the place he keeps returning to. He likes everything better now; door frames and carpets and the wooden floor beneath, though he arches an eyebrow at the sight of his bed when he locks eyes with it beyond Sebastian’s body. Made up, with the sweater that he managed not to pack for his trip still lying lazily upon it right where he forgot it.

“You didn’t sleep in here?” he wonders quietly.

Sebastian shrugs awkwardly. “Used a guest room. I’m already washing the sheets.”

For once, Chris ignores Sebastian’s everlasting politeness and furrows his brow in further contemplation, looking down as good as he can at the man that is glued to his front. “But you used the shower in my bathroom?”

This draws a non-committal sound out of Sebastian, but nothing more.

“Seb?” Chris urges, nudging the side of Sebastian’s head with his nose. “Why?”

Sebastian dutifully lifts his head, then, sighing as though it takes a lot of effort and looking unimpressed with Chris’s curiosity when their eyes finally meet again.

“I’ve missed you,” he confesses, a matter-of-fact kind of thing that could have come across as casual if it weren’t for the pink that suddenly stains his cheeks and for the way Chris’s heart pointedly jumps in his chest. “It’s – I didn’t think about it, I just. Your shampoo smells nice and it was the closest thing to you that I thought I was getting for another… however many months. Sleeping in your bed, though, it felt like overstepping a boundary.”

He wears his emotions proudly, not that Chris can interpret them fully. He’s aware of the defeated slouch of Sebastian’s shoulders, though, as though the truth was the tension that held him up straight until Chris nudged it out of him.

Chris brushes his thumb along the dip of Sebastian’s spine. Tilts his head, grinning. “Using my shower didn’t?”

Sebastian’s eyebrows rise, his gaze snapping up. “You wouldn’t have known that I used it if you’d just come back when you said you would!”

“Still very much not apologizing for that.”

The words feel warm where they soar in the air, emphasising the flush upon Sebastian’s cheeks. Sebastian ducks his head, smiling slightly but still not looking entirely comfortable under Chris’s gaze despite the bravery he’s shown, the belief in his own emotions that is always there. It’s Chris that is the problem here. Chris who needs to be brave.

He applies pressure to Sebastian’s back again, just to erase the breath of air that has found its way in-between them during the past minute. Presses them together from chest to knee because it feels right, and because it seems like Sebastian likes it that way, too.

The air in the house isn’t cold, nor particularly warm. A middle-ground that Chris doesn’t appreciate at all when Sebastian’s standing mostly naked within it, so he does his best to emit warmth, to share his own body heat when he considers Sebastian’s confession some more and sighs out a fond breath of, “ _Sebastian_.”

Sebastian’s expression softens in reaction to it, his right eyebrow teased by the sudden use of his full name and arching with sarcasm. “Am I in trouble?”

“Yes!” Chris splutters. “You think you get to steal the scent of me without leaving yours behind on my sheets? _Not_ fair.”

The sarcasm fades; the eyebrow loses its height. Chris tried to make his comment sound playful, but there is a sense of vulnerability seeping in and taking place in Sebastian’s expression, his eyes suddenly round with emotion as though they’re unsure what to think, to believe. Perhaps afraid to believe anything.

Sebastian’s skin is soft. The planes of his back are familiar. He’s made up of flesh and bone and intriguing layers and he has a hand curled at Chris’s hip, beneath the sweater. He’s still standing willingly within the harbour of Chris’s arms and just admitted with both actions and words that he missed Chris, that he wanted a piece of Chris with him when he left.

Chris loves him. He _loves_ him. Will continue to do so even if he never gets to keep Sebastian, not even a piece in return.

“You’re the only one who sleeps in that bed apart from me,” he hears himself saying, quieter than usual. So honest that he thinks that his vocal cords might come apart under the weight of his emotions. “Well, Dodger too sometimes, even though he’s not supposed to, because he turns his literal puppy eyes on me and he _knows_ that I can’t say no to him, and –“

“Chris,” Sebastian cuts in, soft but right there and Chris will always latch on to anything Sebastian offers him, no matter how quiet. Especially the quiet.

“Sorry. Rambling. Didn’t mean to,” Chris apologizes, flustered. Sebastian’s eyes are glimmering with amusement, though, sparked into a new emotion by Chris’s stumbling, honest self, and it’s _everything_.

He breathes out softly, feels at ease under Sebastian’s gentle gaze, and adds, “Please sleep in my bed even when I’m not here. Consider it yours. Ours. Be mine.”

The overthinking starts happening a second later, even as Sebastian remains still and calm in his arms. _Mine_ , he’d said, as though Sebastian’s some kind of property, something to claim, and even though his heart wants to – is greedy and in love and wants to look at Sebastian and think that word, feel it with his entire being – it probably came out awful. Proprietary where he has no right to be, to want and wish out loud.

His mouth is already hanging open from the shock of his own plea, his lips moving soundlessly in search for the start of an apology when Sebastian speaks up.

Sebastian’s head is tilted in soft consideration, his eyes clinging to the last dregs of his amusement but mostly just shining with blue, deep sincerity. He’s gorgeous, all of him. His cheekbones and his stubbled jaw and the bright gaze that he is aiming at Chris.

“Are you going to tease me forever if I say that I have been for years? Yours. In secret,” he questions, brushing a thumb over the top of Chris’s hipbone as though he has no idea how distracting that is. “Not so secret actually, the internet seems to have caught on, but –“

“Forever?” Chris interrupts. Screw living in the moment if forever’s on the table. “I get to tease you forever?”

Sebastian sighs exaggeratedly, though his eyes flash with a brand of joy that ruins his attempt at exasperation before he finally rolls them. “If you have to.”

Chris kisses the last few letters into silence; Sebastian’s mouth an open invitation. He closes his own over Sebastian’s bottom lip and can’t help but grin around it, against it, against Sebastian’s mirroring smile when he kisses back.

“I _want_ to,” he manages to get out, pressed to Sebastian’s mouth. “Forever. Yes.”

Sebastian laughs, melodic and beautiful, pressing one hand to Chris’s cheek while the other slides away from Chris’s hip and curls around the waistband of Chris’s jeans, tugging. His knuckles are a bit cold against Chris’s lower belly; his mouth warm to lick into as Sebastian starts to back them into the bedroom.

“I suggest you start in bed, then.”


End file.
